Emotions Wtf!

By Kray Z. Lewis

The book is a thrill ride, taking the reader through a whole range of emotions—from angry to zealous.

There are thirty-five stories included with the aim of impacting the reader with an economy of words.

This is a new genre of writing. Other authors may take a hundred pages to tell an effective story.

Several of the stories occurred in reality (names and locations were changed to protect the innocent), but most are the product of an overactive imagination. I hope all will entertain.

This is my first book—with several others planned, including my first novel.

Bon appétit as you digest Emotions WTF!

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781728318158

Book preview

© 2019 Kray Z. Lewis. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse  07/02/2019

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1816-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7283-1815-8 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

A

My Furry Friend

Little Things

B

Speak Up!

C

Criminal

D

Mexican Vacation

E

Point Of View

Perfect Fit

F

Amazon

Henry’s Liquors

G

Broken Light Bulb

H

Restraint

I

The Real Summer Of Love

J

Beauty

Fish Tale

K

Stewardship

L

Another Love Story

M

School’s Out

Life

N

Powerless

O

Sunset

P

Happy Hour

Q

Winter Trip

Nirvana

R

The Steam Room

Rice And Fish

S

Attention To Detail

The Freak

T

Flight Of Fancy

Trust

U

Move Away

V

Dr. Richard

W

Worried

X

Incredulity

Y

Desire

Z

Halftime

A

There were many emotions I could have used for the letter A such as ambitious, altruistic, and one of my personal favorites, aberrant. I chose to go with anger as I can find no living person on this planet that is NOT subject to its effects.

You cannot tell me that even in the misty Buddhist temples of Nepal there isn’t a single monk that has at one time, awaken, swung his legs out of bed, stepped into a pile of goat shit, slipped and stubbed his toe on the stone wall, and he does not get angry? Not bloody likely.

And, like any well-meaning, unknowing civilization such as our own, we have fucked up the concept of anger to the complete confusion of all. There is the anger of disappointment, the anger of retribution, and another of my personal favorites, just plain old pissed off. More seriously, anger is a dangerous flaw, and leads to the absence of reason when reason is usually exactly what is needed. Anger is also mandatory in some instances. Name one? How about when someone says or does something hurtful to a smaller or weaker individual? Then you BETTER get angry!

Affability is the second emotion considered. Being affable is not as easy as it looks. Wanting to be liked is a feeling which I believe everyone has in varying degrees. I figured out long ago that it’s not important that people like you, only that they respect who you are and what you stand for. Likeability also hinges many times on the superfluous: hair, eyes, body shape, etc. What has always sealed the deal for me is when a beautiful woman laughs. And I don’t mean that oh-tee-hee-hand-cupped over mouth dainty debutante chuckle. I’m talking about that deep-from-the-belly-truck driver roar that makes you do the double-take. Give me a woman who is not afraid to laugh out loud any day.

Sexy.

MY FURRY FRIEND

He was, without a doubt, the very best friend I ever had. Only 2.7 pounds on the day I bought him, his first taste of cool, yummy milk was taken from a 1oz. sauce ramekin. He was tiny. On the way home from the breeder’s house and the warmth and security of his dwindling family, I kept saying the name that came to me as I saw him scooting through the back yard with his brother and sister, the last two remaining pups from the litter.

Scooter.

Five-week old Scooter used all the warmth and energy in his body to make the climb up my chest to a nice warm neck just above. Once there, he curled up in a tight little ball and settled in for the ride to his new home.

Hello there small and furry friend, I cooed. Hello Scooter!

He responded by letting out a small puff of air from his black Jujube of a nose.

The love affair was on.

Scooter went everywhere with me. We would hit the beach in the morning; avoiding crowds and allowing Scooter free reign on this whole stretch of Pacific surf for as far as he could see. Puppy paradise. Once East Beach started filling up with the usual assortment of tourists, bums, and millionaires, we would make our way home.

Feed Scooter. Check. Beer. Check. Joint. Check….

Ready for our next adventure…..

Scooter was starting to get a little pouch of a belly from being spoiled rotten, so he propped his rotund little body up on the couch arm, staring longingly at his hopeful destination. I leaned down, cupped his little butt in my hand and gently placed him on his favorite Moo Cow Blankee. It was soft, warm, and Cassie had bought it for him on his first birthday.

Cassie. That made two girls that had left me in the last four months. Wonder what their problems were?

Scooter didn’t care about Cassie. Or Lisa. Or Sarah. Or Shannon. He knew without a doubt, his Dad would take care of him. On that he could always depend. As we made our way up the 101 north to Goleta, I saw a small stretch of smooth beach and not a parked car in sight. Since this alone was a rarity, I pulled over. Scooter, his head just clearing the bottom of the window, yelped as his stubby tail started wiggling uncontrollably. As I eased my ’65 Impala to a stop, the whining and excitement mounted as Scooter pawed at the armrest to get out.

Go get ’em boy! I shouted. From the floorboard he leapt and landed with a small oomph. Off to the surf he bounded with the exuberance and innocence all puppies possess. We spent the next three hours by ourselves, playing in the water. After some swimming, fetch, and just plain rolling around in the sand, I glanced at my watch.

Oh shit. We’re running late, I said out loud. Let’s go Scooter. Band practice.

Six more months passed by and the reason I knew that calculation is because two more women had come and gone. But there was my little buddy Scooter with his soulful brown eyes that danced and almost made him look like he was laughing. He jumped on the couch beside me and then sort of eased his way onto my lap. As I began scratching the back of his neck, his rear right leg started kicking involuntarily.

Kick start! Kick start! Scooter rolled over on his back and let out a puppy-sigh that signaled the onset of sleep. I lay my head back on the cool black leather upholstery. Off we drifted….

God has truly blessed us with animals such as cats and dogs. The problem is they just don’t live long enough. I don’t imagine I will ever be without a dog. I absolutely love them. They are the most loyal and appreciative of beings and cute beyond words. I bristled and twitched, awakened by a little pink tongue eagerly wetting my right cheek. Someone was hungry as indicated by the Stubby Tail Food Dance.

Scooter barked at the intruder as I opened the pantry door. I instinctively ducked as I saw a shadow looming, but my head exploded and darkness descended.

I was out cold for over an hour. As the din subsided, an insufferable pounding forced my eyes shut. I stumbled to my feet and ran to the open back door.

Scooter! I screamed at the top of my lungs. I could feel dried blood crack on my skin as I shouted. My little buddy was nowhere in sight. Blindly, I rushed through the dark to find him. At that single, solitary moment, all I could think about was my doggy’s safety. I crossed the street into a neighborhood foreign to me, and as my eyes adjusted to the night, my heart jumped.

Scooter! I shouted in glee as I approached my little boy.

As I gazed skyward, one single, solitary thought screamed in my head and has every day from that day forward: I will never rest until I find the cold-hearted bastard that slit the throat of my furry little friend, leaving him to die here cold, alone, and afraid, in a strange, dark place.

LITTLE THINGS

I wanted to interview Thomas Coley ever since I first heard of his amazing story. My editor was a little less enthusiastic, but had agreed to let me do it for a piece in the People in the News segment which ran weekly in our newspaper. So I grabbed my recorder, a small pocket-sized model with the little three-inch cassettes my mother had given me on the day I got my job here. For her, this was the culmination and payoff for the meager seven years of college I spent to get my journalism degree, and she was bursting with questions when I told her of my impending meeting the next day with Thomas.

What is the first question you are going to ask? she bubbled.

I thought for a second and kept reminding myself don’t forget the little things. The big picture stuff will take care of itself.

Well. I thought I’d start with….

She didn’t wait for the reply, obviously star struck at her daughter meeting, interviewing, and writing a story on a real honest-to-goodness celebrity.

He is drop-dead gorgeous! She exclaimed. That is one fine-looking man, she added.

Mom, you have to remember… I tried to inject, but